The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree
by oh-you-pretty-things
Summary: It is easier to accept the social consequences of a blessed marriage below one's birth than for both of people to be ruined in an elopement.  I should know...  This is the tale of Weatherby Swann and Elizabeth's mother. WSxOC, WxE
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: This one has been brewing in my brain for a while now. Finally, due to my icky summer illness, I can write it. ;)_

There comes a point in every man's life in which he is forced to make decisions. These decisions may be miniscule or of the greatest importance. The decisions that I have made in my life pale in comparison to that which is before me now. This decision centers on love and understanding, happiness and society. It is a difficult decision to some, and even to myself, but it is a decision that cannot be ignored. I could choose to allow my daughter ultimate happiness in life, or force her into a situation she will despise. I love her too much to stifle her happiness.

"So, this is the path you have chosen, is it?" I say before I have a chance to really think about it. "After all, he is a blacksmith."

I can see it in her face, in the way her eyes sparkle, and in her smile. It's always been there, her love for Will Turner, always.

"No," she says without looking at me, "He's a pirate."

I'm left with no choice but to walk away. If I were to deny them, the two children in love, they would only find a way around me and it would not be pleasant for anyone involved. It is easier to accept the social consequences of a blessed marriage below her birth than for both of them to be ruined in an elopement. Besides, the truth of the matter is that her birth is not so very high above his. And, promises must be kept.


	2. Love At First Sight

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: I'm so excited about this, even if no one else is:D:D:D_

I remember the day so clearly. I was returning to the manor from London after addressing some pressing matters of business. I was hesitating, leading my horse through the forest on the property slowly. My mother would start on me as soon as I reached the manor. It was fair, I suppose, for a mother to be pushing for her eldest son to settle down and marry. The manor did need an heir and I wasn't getting any younger, just entering my third decade of life. But, oh, how I despised it!

As I made my way towards the manor, I cut through the meadow in attempt to delay my arrival further. It was there that I first saw her, her pale blue skirts gathered into a makeshift basket for wildflowers. Her hair was a wild, pale brown with the tiniest hints of gold that the English spring was not allowing to come forth, yet still, there they were defying the country. I'd never seen a woman so openly dishevelled and it was refreshing. I didn't recognize her face from this distance, and I knew of no guests at the manor. This creature was a mystery to me and I wanted to know more. Plus, she was a welcome distraction from returning to the manor.

As I made my way towards her, I tried to discern the material of her frock. It didn't seem to shimmer like satin, and it seemed far too light for brocade. Having just been to London, I had the displeasure of being constantly tortured by my cousin who felt it necessary to point out the latest fashions at all times. Mentally, I berated myself for even thinking along those lines. I watched her as I grew closer and realized that she hadn't even noticed me yet. Smiling, I approached her from behind.

"What wonderful weather we're having!" I exclaimed.

The precious creature jumped suddenly and turned so rapidly that several flowers flew from her skirts. As she looked upon me, her face paled and her eyes grew wide. Without even thinking, she dropped her skirt losing the remaining flowers. I smiled at having had such an affect on her, perhaps she was still of that age where men terrified her. I couldn't see how, she was surely old enough to have been presented in court.

"If I may," I said charmingly as I swooped down to collect the flowers that had littered the ground before her. While I gathered the flowers, my eye caught sight of the hem of her dress. It was clearly nothing more than cleverly dyed linen! But, given that it was currently stained with bright yellow pollen dust, I decided that the lady was quite wise in her choice of clothing.

"Mi…Mister Swann," she stuttered. Now, as I said, I knew of no guests at the manor and I did not recognize her face. I looked up at her, straining for recognition.

"My lady?"

At that point, a rather hesitant but delighted smile graced her beautiful face and she knelt down beside me, picking up the remainder of the flowers. With her head bent and her wild hair covering half of her face, I could still not recall the lady's name. I felt that certainly I would have remembered such a face. I paused, flowers in hand, to watch her shyly gather the rest of them. She looked up at me coyly and I noted her brilliant green eyes. They sparkled with something barely discernible and I felt myself smiling automatically. I handed her the flowers and she smiled lightly.

"Thank you, Mr. Swann."

We both stood and I could not drag my eyes from her.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, "But, have we met?"

Her eyes widened again and she laughed easily. Again, I was forced to smile.

"We have, Mr. Swann," she said, her voice peppered with muted amusement. "On many occasions."

"We have?" I asked in wonder.

"I'm…," she hesitated as though slightly confused. "Mary. Mary Stevens?"

I blinked at her. For the life of me, I could not remember a Mary Stevens in my acquaintance. Noting my lack of recognition, she reached up with her free hand and pulled her hair back tightly. My mouth dropped in shock.

"No!" I exclaimed. Her smile faded and she nodded silently. "Mary?"

She nodded again. I laughed fully and Mary smiled slightly, releasing her hair.

"I'm sorry," she started.

"For what? Enjoying the day? Don't be ridiculous!" I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Mary Stevens! She had lived at the manor her entire life, born into the unfortunate life of servitude. Mary was a kitchen maid.

"May I carry those for you?" I asked, gesturing to her flowers. She looked up at me with wide, emerald eyes and then down to her flowers. I could see the protestation growing on her lips, but I stopped it short by taking the flowers from her hand.

"Yes, thank you," she said softly. We walked slowly in silence until I could bear it no longer.

"Tell me, Mary, are you expected in the kitchen today?"

Mary looked at me again with surprise. It was as though my speaking to her shocked her every time. "No, sir. I have the day off."

"Brilliant! And, Mary," I paused for effect and waited for her eyes to fall upon me, "You mustn't call me 'sir' any longer."

"But, Mr. Swann, I'm afraid I must!"

"Nonsense. No one is here but you and I, there is no need for such formality," I said, releasing my horse in the meadow and leading Miss Stevens away. "Today I am simply Weatherby and you, Mary."

She watched me as though discerning for any hint of a lie. "Very well, Weatherby," her lips curved into a smile as she spoke clearly, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"And I, yours," I replied, kissing her hand.

We spent the day learning about one another. It took her a while to accept that I expected no servitude from her and I knew it would be quite difficult for me to return to thinking of her in such a manner. In fact, I never believed in love at first sight until that day, even if it wasn't first sight. Even if she had been there all along, I hadn't seen her for what she was until then. And she was a lively, clever, spirited young woman. Although ten years my junior and born into a station decidedly beneath my own, she was a match for me in a way that other women I had met were not. She challenged me to believe in the impossible and forget the importance of propriety.

Nightfall came too quickly and I refused to allow this wonderful day to fade away with the sunset. I walked Miss Stevens to the servant's entry of the manor.

"Miss Stevens, if I might," I started.

"That's quite impossible, Mr. Swann," she interrupted. "In fact, this whole day has been quite impossible."

"I…do not know where to begin," I said, flustered. I looked at my hands, hoping for some coherent sentence to form in my mind.

"Then it is best that you do not," she said with finality. She turned to enter the manor and I caught her wrist in desperation. She turned towards me, a silent rage building in those murky green depths.

"Mr. Swann!" she said sharply, struggling to regain her arm.

"I should like to know you more, Miss Stevens," I whispered. She paused and blinked at me.

"I will not be your mistress," she said bluntly. Oh, the fire within her! I wasn't sure what to say to that, the thought had never crossed my mind. So that was exactly what I said.

"The thought had never crossed my mind," I said numbly.

"Oh," she looked away as though to gather her thoughts. "Then what did you have in mind."

I smiled. I wanted to know everything about her, I wanted to bring a smile to her lovely face, I wanted to open doors for her, bring her opportunities, set her free…I wanted to court her.

"Perhaps you could join me for dinner," I said without thinking.

Her face spread into a charming smile, full and without restraint. Her laugh was light and brilliant, like tinkling bells. "I'm sure your mother would adore eating with the help."

I hadn't really though about it like that. Mary had a point, but Mary often had many points.

"It wouldn't really be proper," she said softly. "You must have a sense of propriety, Mr. Swann."

My eyes flew up to hers. "Oh, hang propriety!"

She laughed again. "Perhaps you should sleep upon it, Mr. Swann. Tomorrow you may better comprehend the detriments of courting a kitchen maid."

_That_ was my Mary. So wise, so thoughtful, always logical and far too clever for her station in life.

"Very well, Miss Stevens. But do expect me back tomorrow, my feelings will be unaltered."

She smiled softly and disappeared within. I made my way back to the manor feeling a warmth I had never felt before. Shocking as it would be to my relatives, I silently vowed to marry Miss Stevens, even if her birth was so decidedly below my own.


	3. An Abrupt Proposal

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: This is a short chapter, but this will also be a short story. Thanks to anyone reading it, and thanks even more to my two reviewers. ;)_

I did return the next day, and the day after that, and everyday after that until she agreed to at long last come to dinner with me, however reluctantly. She delighted me with her wild temper and the way she kept it in check with so little evidence of the contrary. Mary told me of her nervousness to meet my mother in any setting other than that of master and servant. She also informed me, rather shamefully, that she had nothing suitable to wear to dinner. I, blinded by love, had seen nothing wrong with her linen gowns. In fact, I felt that they suited her untameable nature. Nevertheless, I managed to borrow one of my sister's gowns for her to wear.

My mother was delighted that I was bringing a young lady to dinner. She had the servants prepare the finest porcelain and silver for dinner. My mother could sense that I was in love, surely, and this made her quite happy. That is, until my guest arrived to the dining hall. Mary's nervousness was evident, and my mother had not that same affliction of lack of recognition as I had had. Her frown was prominent and Mary started to back out of the door. I caught her elbow lightly. She turned her green eyes, blazing with emotion, up towards me. I smiled at her warmly and her eyes melted. She walked with me to her place at the dinner table while my mother was set ablaze with indignation.

"Well, this is quite interesting," my mother said icily.

Mary held her head high and squared her shoulders, but said nothing. My mother wasn't finished with her full-frontal assault.

"What a lovely gown, Mary. It looks rather similar to one of Abigail's."

Mary's lips parted slightly but she closed them again and fiddled with her napkin. It would be lovely to say that dinner carried on in silence, but it did not. My mother was determined to put Mary in her place.

"So, how long has this been going on?" she asked bluntly. I was rather affronted by her gall.

"Mother!" I exclaimed. My mother's eyes dragged from Mary to me slowly.

"I understand, Weatherby. Young men are wont to have their indiscretions. How far along is she and what does she want?"

It was Mary who interjected by standing to her feet abruptly.

"I am not that sort of woman," she said quietly.

"Sit down, child," my mother hissed. Mary did as she was told, but her eyes flared with unspoken anger. "Are you not, indeed?"

"I am not," Mary repeated.

"Interesting. Is this not a convenient way for you to climb society's ladder," my mother's eyes skimmed up and down Mary's form in evident distaste. "In my daughter's dress, no less?"

"I had no idea," Mary replied breathlessly.

"The fault was mine," I said to Mary more than to my mother. "She simply wanted to wear something fine to dinner."

"And, fine it is," my mother replied sharply. "Much too fine for a kitchen maid."

I could see Mary stiffen and straighten with my mother's words. "So it is," she replied evenly.

"Ah, clearly you understand how _absurd_ this is," my mother said to Mary.

"I do," she replied softly.

"Then you know what must be done," my mother said with a cold smile.

"I do," Mary said, voice cracking.

"Mary," I said, placing my hand on hers. She shook her head and pulled her hand from mine. She was on her feet and pushing away from the table before I had a chance to stop her.

"Leave her, Weatherby," my mother said sharply. "At least the girl has some sense of propriety."

Then, she added the statement which sent both of us into the ranks of indignation.

"I expect that dress to be returned."

Mary paused and stiffened, I could almost see her courage building as she turned. "I may be many things, Mrs. Swann, but a thief is not one of them."

My mother snorted derisively. "We shall see. Pack up your things, I want you out of here by morning."

Finally, I could stand it no longer. I stood from the table and stood beside Mary.

"Mother! Have you no consideration for me?" She looked as though she would say something, but I interjected before she had the chance. "Have you never considered that I am in love with her?"

My mother's face paled instantly and Mary smiled slightly. I had not professed my love for her. She stared at me for a moment, as though she never expected to hear those words from my mouth.

"Weatherby, don't be foolish. You are young; you don't know what you want."

"I am nearly thirty," I said through gritted teeth.

"She will ruin you."

"I will accept the consequences of my actions," I said crisply. My mother narrowed her eyes at me. "Oh, and mother, you cannot fire her."

"What?" both my mother and Mary said simultaneously. I turned to Mary and reached for her hand.

"Mary, be my wife."

It was sudden, even for me, but nothing had ever been clearer to me before. Without her, my world would crumble and fall. I had to have her at any cost; I was laying myself bare for her. She blinked at me, trying to comprehend the short sentence I had just emitted.

"It's yes or no," I said desperately. "Very simple, really."

"Have a sense of propriety," my mother cried.

"Hang propriety!" I hissed.

"Yes," Mary whispered. I was so angry with my mother that I almost missed it.

"Yes?"

"Yes," Mary repeated with a wide smile.

"Ruined," my mother hissed. Nothing she could say now would ever vex me again.

"So, you see you cannot fire her for she resigns," I stated to my mother.

My mother shook her head and a string of lectures exited her mouth, but I was deaf to them for Mary had said 'yes'. This fierce woman with flaring emerald eyes had agreed to be my wife. There was nothing more precious to me than Mary, that is, until Elizabeth was born.

The wedding was secret and quiet; my mother had her hand in hiding such a marriage from the public. No one was to know of the birthrights of my new wife. It was quite ridiculous considering that all of the servants knew for certain. At Mary's request, we moved to the small guest house on the far corner of the property, deep within the woods. She had no desire to live near my mother, who even now tried to separate us from one another. But, nothing would ever separate us save death and even then…I am certain she watches over Elizabeth.


	4. A New Light

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: SAD CHAPTER ALERT! You've been warned…_

It wasn't long before Mary was with child, and oh, how well she wore pregnancy! She glowed with this internal joy. It infuriated my mother to no end, but I also found that with the impending birth of a grandchild, my mother was much calmer and considerably less cruel. This did not mean that she didn't find it necessary to remind me _daily_ that I was ruined and that I had ruined Mary in her own social circles. I admit the subject of my wife was considered taboo by some members of upper society. I bore their shielded insults tolerably well, having no choice if I were to climb to a reasonable posting.

At that point, I was a captain of His Royal Majesty's military and yet I have never been to war. It's funny how the intricacies of society work. That I, a man of no military background, was put into a position of power over those who live to serve the military. It's quite absurd really. Mary certainly agreed. At least she did so with a smile and a gentle hand. She often told me, absurd though it may be, that it did put me in a position to do good. Regardless, with a child on the way, I was seeking to gain a position of relative safety. At the time, I was very interested in the position of Governor, although the only available stations were in the far off, rather barbaric islands of the Caribbean.

I spoke with Mary about these positions in the islands and she had beamed widely with a smile that made the sun seem dull.

"That's a wonderful idea, Weatherby," she said brightly, rubbing her swollen belly happily.

"Mary…I…I've said 'no'," I replied rather hesitantly.

She turned, slowly because her belly was so very large. Her round green eyes were thick with mystification.

"Why would you do that? Do you not see that this would be an ideal place for you and I start over?" Her eyes were achingly sad and I finally realized that she would have enjoyed moving to a place far away from my mother.

"But, I feel our child would benefit from being here, with everything that my family has to offer."

A cloud passed over Mary's features and she turned from me again, moving languidly to the door of our home. She wrapped her lace shawl around her shoulders and exited the house. I followed her, naturally. I am only a man and as such can never hope to fathom the complexities of the female mind, but even I could tell that she was less than pleased.

"Mary," I called after her softly. She was out the little gate and into the valley, singing softly to her belly as she walked. At the sound of my voice, she paused and turned her head ever so slightly.

"Your mother will want a hand in raising her," she spoke crisply.

"Her?"

"Our daughter."

I smiled, for how could she possibly know what the sex of the child is? Quickly, I fought the tall grass to walk beside her. She looked up at me, her skin radiant and eyes bright in the sunlight, and began to walk again.

"Daughter?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

Mary offered a shrug of her thin shoulders. "I can feel it. Her name will be Elizabeth."

I smiled smugly. "Do I have any say in the matter?"

Mary's smile deepened and she continued walking. "No."

I caught her in my arms for I could not help myself. She truly was everything and anything I had ever wanted in a mate. A thousand kisses a day would never be enough to show her how much I love her.

"Will there be other postings?" she asks after I have finally relinquished my grip on her. Her tone is hurried, as though she knows something that I do not.

"Likely, but Mary," I paused, waiting for her full attention. "There are pirates in those seas. I hardly think it a safe haven for you or…_Elizabeth_."

"Pirates?" she asks, amused.

I nod, puzzled at her light tone. "'Tis no laughing matter!"

"Pirates will be no match for our Elizabeth," she said confidently, turning her sharp eyes upon me. "And I am certain that they will not be your downfall."

"You cannot know that."

"No," she agreed, "Nor can you."

Mary walked on humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar. "And really bad eggs," I heard her sing.

I frowned at her back, finally recognizing the song as some ridiculous diddy that the servants sang about pirates. It is obvious from the lyrics that not one of them have ever come in contact with a real pirate. I wonder if my mother might not have been correct about a number of matters, including our child being taught by its mother. I rather wondered if she'd fill the child's head with romanticized nonsense about pirates.

I was still watching her, walking and singing nonsense, while I thought about whether she would make a good mother. I was watching her with her hand outstretched and dragging along the tops of the grass, when suddenly that hand pulled in towards her stomach tightly as Mary keeled over.

"Mary!" I ran to her, collapsing beside her. It was the baby, it must've been coming. Mary's face was a terrifying shade of white and her skin was already coated with a thin sheen of sweat. I lifted her effortlessly, even though she was crying and clinging to me. She insisted that I get the doctor.

"She comes," she mumbled between cries of pain. "Elizabeth comes."

I haven't run that quickly since I was but a boy. When I made it to the house, I was a disaster. My wig had flown off somewhere in the field, my clothes were wind blown and in disarray and my eyes were wild with fear. My mother took one look at me and sent the servants into a flurry. She led the way back to my little house, where Mary lay looking like death. She smiled so weakly at me and I could see that our sheets were red with her blood. My mother's eyes are wide and stern as she sent me back out the door. I had never seen her show concern for Mary before this point.

As I waited, I watched the midwife come and leave again wearing dread in her eyes. All I could do was pray. Pray that Mary would live to see another day. She was everything I had ever wanted, it was simply too cruel for the world to take her from me so soon. Her screams increased and I watched the doctor enter the room at long last. Hours passed. Hours of screaming and bloodied sheets. Hours of boiled water and terrified maids. I could see it in all of their faces, no matter how hard they tried to hide it. Mary was going to die.

At that realization, I sat very still, frozen in a state of unmoving terror. What would I do without her? And, what of the baby? Was I to lose them both? As time wore on, I recognized that Mary's screams were becoming weaker. Finally, the door opened and my mother emerged looking tired and sad. She walked to me and rested her hand against my cheek. She pressed her lips against my head and whispered to me.

"It's a girl." I remember wishing that I could smile. Wishing that I could be overcome with joy, but all I felt was sorrow for I knew what the next set of words would be from my mother's mouth.

"Hurry, Weatherby. She hasn't much time."

I don't remember getting up from the chair that I had been so steadfastly attached to for the last several hours; I only remember familiar objects flowing past my consciousness as I moved into the room. The doctor was in the corner, washing his hands in a basin. He nodded to me pertly before discreetly escaping the chamber.

The room was stuffy and overly warm. It carried the dank scent of blood, sweat and tears. Mary was still alive, although just barely. She was so very white, drenched in sweat, but she held the small bundle in her arms so lovingly. I could hear her silly song on her lips, weakly being transmitted to the newborn infant.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, and loot,  
Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.  
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot,  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We extort, we pilfer, we filch, and sack,   
Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.  
Maraud and embezzle, and even high-jack,  
Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We kindle and char, inflame and ignite,   
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.  
We burn up the city, we're really a fright,  
Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

We're rascals, scoundrels, villians, and knaves,  
Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.   
We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,  
Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.  
We're beggars and blighters, ne'er-do-well cads,  
Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.  
Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads,  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho."

Her eyes, still burning in that brilliant emerald as though tomorrow she would get up and walk away from all this, met mine. Her smile was weak, but genuine.

"Elizabeth," she whispered to the baby, whose wide dark eyes were watching her mother aptly. "Meet your father. He shall look after you while your mommy watches from above."

Elizabeth's eyes sought out my face and I was taken aback from her beauty. What a perfect little treasure she was! She still is. She smiled a toothless, content grin. For the first time in hours, a smile came to my face.

"Hello Elizabeth."

Mary handed the baby to me and it seemed to take all of her strength to do so. Then she gripped my free hand and stared at me with all the determination she could muster.

"Make me a promise, Weatherby."

I nodded, for what else could I do?

"I haven't much time. I'm dying."

I shook my head violently, but she merely smiled slightly.

"Oh yes, it is my time," she continued. "But, Weatherby, promise me that you will take the next post available in the Caribbean."

"Mary," I start, unwilling to place the only thing I would have left in the world in danger. "It won't…"

She stopped me with a fierce glare. I fell silent immediately.

"Promise me. I want Elizabeth raised to think and feel on her own. I don't want her to know the restraints of society. I don't want her to be defined by them."

I could only nod and watch her smile widen. She collapsed against her pillow in exhaustion.

"One more thing, Weatherby. Let her fall in love with whoever she wants. Give her that, for me."

Before I even had a chance to reply, the fire died in her eyes and she went very still.

"Mary! Mary!" I cried, shaking her desperately. My distraught nature caused Elizabeth to awaken and cry relentlessly alongside my own sorrowful tears.

Now, I must end this part of the tale for the pages are becoming tear-stained. The focus of my life had shifted entirely to Elizabeth. She was now my everything and her happiness was, and still is, paramount.


	5. Means to an End

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any of the characters or dialogue associated with the film. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: Sorry for the huge delay in posting this. I think I may have thrown up all my writing inspirations when I had the flu. :S Anyway, it's coming back to me slowly. I am glad that I can count this story as complete; it clears my plate a bit. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story! It was much appreciated!_

It had been decided that it would be best for me to move back into the manor following the death of my wife. At the time, I liked to believe that my mother had my best interests in mind and it wouldn't occur to me for quite some time that what she had really wanted was Elizabeth. My sister, Abigail, you see, had gone decidedly wrong in my mother's eyes. At thirty-four, she was sure to die an old maid. I saw nothing wrong with this. Abigail had never been one to fawn over dances and suitors. She preferred to read and better her mind, and to be quite frank, I approved immensely. In Elizabeth, however small she may have been then, my mother saw a fresh start. A new chance to make a Swann lady worthy of her lineage. My mother had distinctly chosen to forget that Elizabeth's lineage was only half that of lords and ladies.

I decided to lose myself in the politics of the land, determined to earn the post of governor on some Caribbean island and fulfill Mary's dying wish. Unfortunately, these political endeavours of mine oft left Elizabeth on the countryside and brought me to London. Elizabeth, in her early years, was cared for entirely by my mother and sister. I had figured, with Elizabeth unable to do much of anything on her own, that no damage could be done in allowing this. Also, my sister is very much a free-thinker and I had doubts that my mother would be able to stop her once she got started. For the time being, Elizabeth was in good hands.

Throughout those early years, my tireless work was not ignored. I was offered several posts as governor in English towns and even in India. I rejected all of them insisting on a posting in the Caribbean. In England, I would never be able to allow Elizabeth the freedom her mother so desired; India was too ridden with strife and society had already set in quite firmly. The Caribbean, these undiscovered islands, were far enough removed from England to allow Elizabeth some social freedom. Now, as I say 'freedom' I had not meant for her to run amuck with blacksmiths and pirates, but rather develop her own manner of thinking. In England, matters were concisely decided for ladies: Mrs. Heatherington's hat _is_ in fashion, this tea from India is what all ladies _must_ serve, that gentleman (and his large fortune) _is_ the ideal suitor, etcetera.

Years would pass before I would see light in my quest. I had begun to gain a reputation as a 'mad spice runner' with my insistence for a Caribbean post. It was extremely easy to ignore any knocks on my mental state, but it was not so easy for others to ignore my wealth and influence. By Elizabeth's fifth birthday, there was talk of a very important port in Jamaica coming in need of a governor. The current governor was being held under some suspicion by the King. This was my moment to seize the opportunity and make myself extremely visible to the King himself. The process of becoming the Governor of Port Royal would take several years of careful negotiation and many trips to London. My progress brought great joy to my heart, but greater still was the joy brought by my Elizabeth.

My continual travels had robbed me of many key moments of Elizabeth's life, but when I was home she lit up my life. There was no denying that Elizabeth was her mother's child. She had a fire in her belly and a propensity to play with servants. My mother was constantly trying to instil a sense of propriety in my daughter, but to no avail. Elizabeth was a free-spirit by nature. At two, she had hidden my mother's silver; at five, she had caused a stir by running off into the fields – I found her at dusk, fast asleep in the wildflowers and covered in pollen; but, at eight, she was ferociously back-talking to my mother. I had no doubt that her strong opinions were encouraged by my sister. Her sharp tongue had earned her more than one reprimand. And, it was one day upon returning from London that I found my mother taking a switch to Elizabeth. Unfortunately for my mother, her behaviour had solidified my decision: Elizabeth and I were leaving the country, forever. I remember it like it was yesterday: I had gripped my mother's wrist with a ferocity I had never realized I had.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Now, Weatherby, unhand me!" my mother insisted indignantly. "We agreed that her upbringing was to be in my hands. She has disobeyed me and must be punished!"

"What horrid act has she done that you have resorted to beating her?"

"She will not behave like the lady she is! Always running off to the servants! Ridiculous, if you ask me!"

I dropped my mother's hand in disgust. "I didn't," I said coldly. I turned to Elizabeth, whose face should have been stained with tears only to find it completely dry; she was made of sterner stuff than that.

"Elizabeth," I said softly, "I want you to go to your room and pack your belongings."

Elizabeth's face brightened considerably. Before she had a chance to ask me where we were going, my mother did the honours.

"Where are you going? Where are you taking my granddaughter?"

I turned to my mother for what I hoped would be the last time. "I am taking _my daughter_ to London with me. There we will complete the necessary arrangements for our passage to Port Royal, Jamaica."

My mother's face blanched and Elizabeth's flared to life.

"Port Royal?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes, I have finally been able to obtain a posting and fulfill your mother's dying wish."

"Are…are there," she paused, glancing at my mother with the switch still in hand. Apparently my presence gave her some courage for she continued her question. "Are there pirates there?"

I frowned. Pirates? Why on earth would she want to see pirates? There was no fear in her face and I figured that she had somehow managed to read some of Abigail's nonsensical novels, glorifying criminals and the like.

"I should hope not," I replied, ignoring her disappointed face and glancing at my mother's hand twitching upon the switch. "Run along, Elizabeth."

As soon as Elizabeth had disappeared upstairs, my mother began her rant.

"You cannot do this! You cannot take her from me!"

"I believe you'll find that I can."

"She'll grow up savage!"

"Have you so little regard for my parenting skills? Or, rather, in turn your own?"

My mother was struck speechless and I spun from the room.

"We shall be gone by this evening. Should you have anything to say, or rather an apology to make, to Elizabeth I suggest you do so immediately. It will be your last chance."

I ignored her shrieks of my name behind me. Why should I pay any attention to a woman who so clearly despised my dead wife so much so as to harm her own granddaughter? The time had come for Elizabeth and I to leave this life behind, and we did so happily.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Elizabeth, at the tender age of ten, had been quite fascinated with her first trip to London. There we were welcomed in to the home of the young Lieutenant Norrington who would be my first mate aboard the ship to Jamaica. Military standing ranked me higher than this upstanding young man, but I had no knowledge of piloting a ship. I was named Captain in name only. While Lieutenant Norrington and I decided upon the best route to Port Royal, where he would also be staying once we landed, Elizabeth helped herself to a number of military documents. She learned as much as she could about pirates during that time, and I found her interest in the lawless lives of thieves most alarming. By the time I had discovered what she'd been up to and removed the documents from her presence, the damage had already been done. Little did I know that her slight obsession would carry on and, in fact, save her life in the future.

Our ship left a fortnight later and we travelled for a month without any interruptions. The sea was unnaturally kind to us, leaving us with very few days of high waves. It wasn't until that fateful day that we came across the sunken ship and plucked young William Turner from the water that the sea had even seemed remotely unkind. I had made my mistake then by appealing to Elizabeth's compassion in tending to the boy who was so clearly below our class. How was I to know that this boy would capture my young daughter's heart?

For years, I could see that Will Turner was in love with my Elizabeth, and I must confess, however shamefully, that I did everything in my power to separate the pair. I wasn't blind to the way Elizabeth interacted with him and the way she looked at him. I certainly wasn't blind to love, but I am afraid that my mother's influence had even affected me. I pushed Elizabeth towards Captain Norrington, as he came to be called after years of hard work, often and without shame. Inside, I began to admit that I was doing both Mary and Elizabeth an injustice by doing so.

When the pirates attacked Port Royal in search of a trinket I had never even seen nor heard of, despite the fact that it was under my very roof since the day we came ashore, I saw the true nature of the love Will Turner had for my daughter. And, when she consented to marry the newly appointed Commodore Norrington only if we turned back to save the young man, I knew that I had lost my case. I could no longer suspend the happiness of my daughter nor deny the wishes of my most beloved wife.

I was, however, most surprised that when I granted Will Turner clemency upon our return to Port Royal that Elizabeth was still carrying out the plans to marry Commodore Norrington. I was both pleased and disturbed by this. The snob in me was most satisfied. She would carry on a noble bloodline and make a very smart match. The realist in me, however, was screaming for justice. I knew that they were in love with one another. I knew that however smart the match with Norrington may have been, it was not the right one for Elizabeth. Her lack of enthusiasm with regards to the wedding was a key factor in this realization.

The day of the execution of Captain Jack Sparrow had proven to be most interesting and revealing. It was then that I could no longer pretend to ignore the love that existed between Mr. Turner and Elizabeth. His declaration was pure and concise, as much as mine had been to Mary. How could I deny them when I knew what it felt like to love that deeply? After the fiasco of the attempted escape of Jack Sparrow, which of course led to an _actual _escape, Elizabeth had bravely shown her true intentions. And, thus, I am led back to the beginning of this tale: the truth is that her birth is not so very high above his and promises must be kept.

Rest in peace, Mary, your daughter is loved.


End file.
